No Salvation For Me Now
by the girl with poor judgement
Summary: Future/'AU' Fic. "When God closes a door, somewhere he opens a window." Featuring the pairings Santana/Quinn, Rachel/Puck.
1. Chapter 1: It's Peaceful in the Deep

**A/N:**This isn't a finished piece of writing, but I thought if I uploaded the first few chapters that are written that it'd urge me to update more regularly and finish it. Also, Britanna shippers I apologise in advance. Ps. the title and chapters are named after Florence and the Machine lyrics because while writing she's been a kind of inspiration, so there we go.

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><p>Her arms were full, wrapped around two overflowing grocery bags, so unstable she practically tiptoed home in fear of them spilling onto the sidewalk, stupid kid should have paid attention to the bag instead of her boobs. Within the two grocery bags held various ingredients for her favourite blondes favourite meal; cannelloni, with lucky charm salad (don't ask) and cheesy garlic bread. Somewhere with it, stuffed to the very bottom, were a few extra's for desert, that would probably end up stained to the bed sheets anyway. Oh, that reminded her: she'd need new bed sheets.<p>

Two years, two wonderful years of her life she'd spent with her, as her girlfriend. All those years before were equally as amazing, but the fact that they could walk down the street holding hands without people openly judging or go to meals as a couple, and be treat as the adults they were now? It was fantastically, awesomely heart warming that it was indescribable. Brittany and her, they'd been best friends forever. Of course their friendship was special, and not in the way that Santana could tell Britt anything and know it would remain a secret, but something deeper and more profound; she was her first love. At fourteen she realised Brittany had boobs. Did she always have those? Why were they so interesting now? And why did her stomach curl at the thought of her and Chase Donovan hooking up at his halloween party. She struggled with her unrequited feelings for two years, each time Brittany hooked up, Santana would get even and do the same, trying to convince herself she was jealous that Brittany was the one who had a boyfriend, and not that she was jealous of the boyfriend who had Brittany. Until finally, senior year. Outed at Prom when, after having too much punch (spiked by one Dave Karofsky), she crashed onto the stage during the announcement of King and Queen and cried out,

'I'm fricking in love with you, okay?' Then crashing their lips together in an all too passionate kiss for that moment. Life was over for her, it seemed. No-one who outed themselves while drunk at Prom ever got off easy. So she ran, frightened into the deserted halls, ready to hide from the world, crawl into a black hole and die. Brittany followed behind her closely, then fitted their fingers together and backed her against the lockers.

'I love you too,' the girl whispered back, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, before she leant in and continued what they had begun on stage. Even rethinking it sent shivers down her spine. Every memory of that night, that kiss, those words. Perfect. And every snag along the way (yeah talking about you, Chase) was worth it in the end, because she had the girl. Sure, it hurt when her Dad told her it made him sick, and when her mother practically disowned her. They'd never known love like her love for Brittany; they were divorced for christ sake. Love came in all different shapes and forms, so fuck them.

Reaching the steps to their apartment building she shifted the bags in her arms, fumbling in her pocket for the keys, and careful not to drop anything from her grocery sack. A smell of sweet perfume flooded her as she entered, arousing her senses. Britt's favourite, she bought it for herself every birthday and would never let anyone else ('It's my birthday so I get myself a present because it was me who was born on that day' was her logic, and no-one argued with Britt's logic). The living room was dark, the curtains pulled close when she was sure she'd opened them earlier that morning, weird. Setting the bags on the coffee table she gripped either side of the curtain and pulled them aside, casting a stream of light through the space, highlighting a pair of unrecognisable shoes strewn across the rug.

Then, a rustle from the bedroom. Shit, someone was in there. In her home, she'd have to call the police. Where was the phone? Another rustle. Shit, shit, shit. Her heart pounded in her chest, she needed something to arm herself. And what better form of protection than a paper bag filled with cans of tinned vegetables, and bread. You know, the heavier stuff. If she couldn't knock this bastard out then she'd shove the loaf down his throat in self defence. Perfect plan.

Tiptoeing quietly down the hall way, armed with the paper bag and, yes her nails were looking sharp today, she prepared herself for the worst. Another rustle. Pushing the door open as softly as possible her eyes fell to the bed. The worst? Hell, she wasn't prepared for this 'worst'.

A brown mess of hair splayed out across a pillow, _her_ pillow. Who ever they were, their face was hidden from Santana's disbelieving eyes, in the crook of Brittany's neck. Her twig-like arms curled around her waist of the blonde, _her_ blonde, their bodies pressed together as they slept together; both bodies still glistened with sweat and the quilt, _her _quilt, bunched around their hips.

_Oh._

All Santana could do was stare, unmoving and unable to form words. Her mouth opened to speak but closed just as quickly, blinking for a ridiculously long time. The love of her life, her high school sweet heart, her best friend, her life was cuddled up with someone that wasn't her. She was resting contently in the arms of an auburn skank, sleeping with that tiny, soft Brittany smile. A smile, she thought, that only graced her face when it was her making it. Like when she introduced her as her girlfriend for the very first time; like when she twirled her around in the middle of central park and kissed her, like when she professed her love for her. Of course now it felt like all those memories had been flushed down the toilet, and were falling apart like soggy tissue paper.

Neither stirred, how long had she been there? Probably only a few moments, however it felt like an eternity. It was like her own personal car crash; a big, flaming car crash with people screaming, fires burning, engines exploding. No matter how agonisingly painful it was to watch, it was even harder to look away. Tearing her eyes away she found something safer, like… like the loaf of ciabatta bread in the brown paper bag. The loaf of ciabatta wouldn't sleep with someone else. God, her body felt numb, was she even still standing? She had to do something. Something. Anything. Anything? Maybe, maybe it wasn't real. She squeezed her eyes tight; no tears, none. Surely if it was real, she'd be crying, it couldn't be real.

Pinching her wrist would tell her; tell her if it was all a dream and she'd wake up with Brittany drawing circles around her belly button, telling her that she'd been thrashing in her sleep, that she had been pulling 'that cute little face' she pulled when having a bad dream. The one where she scrunched her nose and pouted. If she pinched her wrist and it told her it wasn't a dream, well. What would she do then. She'd rather live in the hope she was dreaming than do anything to prove that she wasn't.

Then the skank hummed dreamily, pressed her lips against Brittany's exposed neck and ran her fingers up and down her arm. The blonde giggled and curled her face into the pillow, Santana felt sick; then it happened. Her arms opened and the bulging paper sack fell to the floor with a clang, and both women startled immediately; scrambling to cover their modesty with whatever they could; the quilt, a shirt, the pillow. Santana's hands found her hips and settled there, her chest puffed out with every ounce of strength she could muster. Brittany's eyes, those large blue pools she'd fallen in love with, shimmered guiltily,

'Santana,' she started softly, but Santana stood tall, quirking her eyebrow in explanation. And when nothing came, she dropped her shoulder and locked eyes with her; she wouldn't break down in tears, not yet at least,

'I bought something for dinner, but it looks like you've already eaten out,' Santana spat, it didn't make sense, and was such a ridiculous thing to say, but when you find the love of your life in bed with someone who, I don't know, isn't you? It kind of throws you. Brittany snatched a pink bra from the floor, scooping the quilt around her body like a towel as her feet touched the floor,

'Santana stay,' she pleaded, following the Latina who had quickly escaped the room and was frantically pacing around the living room, 'What's wrong?'

What's wrong_? What's wrong? _Santana spun herself around immediately and came face to face with the doe eyed beauty,

'Are you kidding me?'

Brittany shook her head innocently, chewing the inside of her cheek and nervously twirling a lock of her tussled blonde hair around one of her long, slender fingers. They stared at each other in silence, Santana's eyes prayed for Brittany's understanding; how betrayed she felt, how embarrassed, how heartbroken. Nothing. The blonde just stared back, eyes wide and expectant; as if it was Santana who had some explaining to do. Her mouth opened to speak again, when at that moment the skank scurried out of the bedroom, hastily dressed in a pair of jogging bottoms and a faded white McKinely sweatshirt, and Santana's heart sank further. That was _hers_ too, hers that she'd let Brittany borrow earlier that day. Giving the brunette a quick once over she clicked her tongue in disgust and snatched her purse from the counter, her chin quivering wildly,

'Screw you,' she yelled, gripping the door handle viciously then slamming it with all her might as she stormed out. Frightful that she would be followed, she took flight down the steps and pounded down the street. Uncaring of the looks she was given, the worry on peoples faces as pushed passed them, she carried on unsure of where her feet were taking her. Bolting down the street, blood rushing furiously and hot through her veins and deafening her ears. Heart throwing itself against her ribs in an attempt to break free, head pounding and pulsing as furious as every other part of her. As she began to fight for breath, she slowed down and rounded the corner onto a quieter side street. Her back hit the wall harshly, she slid to the floor and finally the floodgates opened; the tears poured from her eyes, her body shaking with pain or adrenaline, or both. Her knees were pulled up to her chest and she wrapped her arms around them, making herself as small as possible; maybe if she squeezed herself to tight she'd pop and everything would be better. It didn't, of course. It just made the pain worse and her arms ache.

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><p>Rachel thanked the Barista with a smile as she took the two paper cups in her gloved hands, then peered around the small bistro for a free table. As she set down the two coffees in front of her, Santana pushed her way through the door; bundled up in a woollen scarf and a duffle bag slung over her shoulder, her eyes red and nose a similar colour. Rachel stayed standing and embraced her friend tightly in her skinny arms, squeezing her until the girl relaxed into the hug. Tearing away, she smiled up at her sadly, pushing the cardboard cup towards her as they sat down. San tucked her oversized bag between her feet, and cradled her coffee between her cold hands, then looking to Rachel who's eyes were fixed on her; large and sympathetic,<p>

'Are you okay?' Rachel asked tentatively, as soon as the words fell from her lips she was met with a look from Santana, who's eyebrows were raised in an '_are you kidding me?_' fashion, 'Stupid question, I'm sorry. A better question would be how are you doing?'

'I'm coping, I guess. God, I'm pathetic. It's been, what? Four weeks? And I'm still moping about like a fucking, zombie or something,'

'You and Brittany were together since High School. It's going to take a while before you're…'

'Yeah.' They looked at each other; Rachel subtly chewing her bottom lip, and Santana frowning at the swirls and initials carved into the rim of the table. She looked tired and beaten, and never in the 10 years had she known Santana had she ever seen her as sad as she'd been in the past two weeks. Even when her parents had disowned her, she still had reason to smile, because Brittany was there and would make everything alright. Now that Brittany was gone though, what else did she have? A job that she hated, an apartment she couldn't face going back to, a bed in the Berry's spare room. The girl stayed quiet, and each beat of silence that passed broke Rachel's heart even more.

Brittany was definitely in her bad books. Hell she had been for a while, but Rachel had tried to be more understanding, more forgiving, more mature. In their final year of High School, the two best friends had made plans, big plans that involved taking over New York together; Rachel making it as a star on Broadway in her original musical 'Tony at 25', and Santana being the most feared, most sought after Lawyer and her agent (what? They were young, it could have worked). During summer break each year they'd get part time jobs and work crazy hours, doing the odd babysitting jobs just so they could afford an apartment together in New York when the time came. Then, their final year, Santana dropped the bomb that she would be staying in Ohio with Brittany. The dozy cheerleader was scared of leaving home and Lord Tubbington, afraid that he would relapse and start smoking again (because, _of course _he would.) They didn't speak for three weeks, the longest either girl had went without speaking to each other. Rachel couldn't help but feel a little resentful towards Brittany, robbing Santana- supposedly the love of her life, of the chance to better herself. Brittany could have told Santana to go, she could have made her go, the girl had that power of her but she didn't. And now a few years down the line, they were broken up and Santana was a glorified phone answerer in a little attorneys office.

Unable to handle the lack of conversation, Rachel piped up, asking how work was going and if she'd seen anything else going. As she heard Santana groan and complain about the unproductive jobs she was made to do, Rachel was struck with the most amazing thought she'd ever been graced with,

'Come to New York with me,'

'I can't do that,'

'Why not? What have you got to stay for?'

'My job-'

'You hate your job,' interrupted the girl, leaning forward eagerly, 'There's so many better opportunities out there for you. It'll be good for you, to get away, start again you know?'

Santana looked down at the table, her brows furrowed in thought before looking back at Rachel, asking quietly,

'Can I do that?'

Rachel nodded enthusiastically, her eyes wide and shimmering with hope.

'Where would I stay?'

'With me! Please Santana,' Rachel pleaded. She took a deep and shaky breath. It was true, she had nothing really to stay for. Her parent's didn't speak to her, she hated the office where she worked; the men were old and pervy, and it stunk by both meanings of the word. And she was right, New York did have more opportunities for her, but there was also more competition. Ohio was safe, Ohio was home… but Ohio was also a shit hole. And the place where all the memories of her and Brittany belonged; some places she couldn't even go to anymore because of those memories. Still, it was a difficult decision, and Rachel's dewy puppy dog eyes were not helping her.

'Okay,'

'Really?'

Santana nodded, and suddenly her neck was wrapped in the arms of her tiny best friend, and all she could do was choke out a giggle. Santana Lopez was going to New York.


	2. Chapter 2: No Space Amongst the Clouds

**A/N:** Yay for Chapter 2! Thanks to those who have reviewed and also subscribed to this story. It would be great if you guys could give me some feedback and review, it'll help with my writing and I'll most likely update faster. So, you know ;). One last thing though, this chapters slightly shorter than the last. Okay, that's all. Anyway! Onto Chapter 2!

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><p>Leaving turned out to be a lot easier than she'd expected. After handing in her notice at work, all that needed to be done was pack her boxes and organise someone to move all her junk. Luckily one of her friends from the gym, John, who'd always sort of had a crush on her, owned his own moving van. Although he'd offered to do it for free, Santana offered at least paying petrol costs. He let her pay half, and told her his sister lived in New York so it was reason enough to drive all that way by himself, which kept her guilt at bay. Plus, there were already boxes piled high in the spare room of the Berry house, each labelled appropriately after what was inside. When she'd moved out of her and Britt's apartment, she'd not really had chance to unpack a lot of her things, just essentials like clothes and underwear. It had made things a lot easier.<p>

It was strange to think that a day ago she was loading her things into John's truck and hugging the Berry dad's, thanking them for letting her stay and stuff. They'd been great, really, they were always great. Hell, she wanted them to adopt her as well, now that would have made her happy. Clapping her hands together, Santana crouched down on a foot stool she'd found in the corner. The room she was staying in was just a small box room that, until she'd moved in temporarily, had went un-lived in. The air was cold and felt very stale, just by this she knew she'd been probably the first and only guest at 'Casa de Rachel'. Not that she was complaining, of course. Rachel had been a star letting her stay in the room, rent free until she found a job and her own place, it was just a lot different than what she was used to. In the corner, a couple of old christmas decorations were piled high in their boxes, as well as a broken ironing board and a calendar from the year before hung to the back of the door. And underneath the window was an old brown sofa bed she'd recognised from the Berry's basement in Ohio. The apartment was small but cosy, and decorated in warm reds and oranges, and squashy sofas and rustic furniture. Santana adored it already.

Rachel appeared in the doorway, hand bracing the frame and a beaming smile on her face as she presented the plate of vegan chocolate chip cookies in hand. Santana turned at the smell of the chocolate, and grinned. Standing up and crossing to grab a handful. Reluctantly taking a piece of tissue that Rachel held in front of her she lifted it to her lips and took a bite. Groaning with pleasure as the dessert crumbled and delighted her taste buds, devouring it instantaneously. Wiping her mouth, Santana perched herself at the edge of her makeshift bed, patting it for Rachel to join her,

'You know I'm grateful, right?

'Of course. Although those cookies aren't all for you,' jibed Rachel,

'I didn't just mean the cookies,'

'I know.'

Santana smiled and slipped an arm around her shoulder, pulling her into a body for a sidewards hug. They sat like that for a few moments, appreciating each other silently, before Rachel sat up properly and swivelled to face her,

'I have work, will you be alright for a couple of hours?'

'I'm a big girl, Rach. I'm sure I can find something to do,'

Rachel nodded, briefly hugging her again then leaving the room to get ready. Yep, Santana was enjoying it here. Even Rachel's room mate, Quinn, seemed nice enough. They'd only met the once though; Santana and Rachel were just arriving as she was leaving, so the only words they'd shared were Hello's.

Exhausted from a day of unpacking, she picked up her iPod and snagged a few towels from the linen closet (the ones with disney characters, because they were bound to be Rachel's) then head towards the bathroom. A hot shower before settling in for the night sounded like a perfect first evening in the new city.

A blast of cold water spurted from the shower head, before faltering and losing it's pressure as quickly as it came. Stepping out of her jeans and pulling the tank off her chest she sat at the edge of the tub in the nude as she waited for the water to warm up, admiring the tiny bathroom. It was cute, actually. Not very big as to be expected in the tiny apartment, and very mismatched, but then again it just _went_ with the place. A mint green, rectangular sink with two silver faucets either side, and the matching mint green bath tub with a shower attachment drilled to the wall above. Three walls were covered with white tiles, whilst the one behind the tub was the canvas for someones imagination. In the bottom left corner, perched on a rock sat a mermaid, exceptionally detailed with sunken cheeks and icy blue, deep set eyes. It's hair, thick and a muddy red twisted in it's bony fingers, while she looked timidly over her hunched shoulders. It was beautiful and, from what she gathered, it was unfinished.

A gentle knock at the door pulled her from her daydream, along with a meek call of her name by Rachel. Beckoning her in, the brunettes head appeared between the door and the frame,

'Before I go I forgot to warn you, Finn arrives back home tonight so he'll probably come straight here. Just so you don't confuse him for a burglar and beat him to a pulp, or something,'

Santana rolled her eyes but nodded and wiggled her fingers in goodbye as Rachel disappeared and the door clicked, her attention returning almost immediately to the work of art on the bathroom walls. Even as she showered, she admired it; taking in the tiniest details she'd missed from afar, the intricate design of the scales, dotted with little turquoise jewels, the broken finger nails and tiniest scars faintly stretching across her bony back. Santana almost felt uncomfortable, it was like taking a shower in an art museum; afraid to touch or move a lot incase the water washed it away. Also it's eyes were following her every move, which was very unnerving. Relaxing into the heat she closed her eyes and tipped her head back, and for the first time since leaving Ohio she actually felt at ease, like all the tension she had, melted off her shoulders and circled the drain.

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><p>'I just need to grab my purse, then we can go,'<p>

'Well hurry up, I'm fuckin' starved. You're paying right?'

'I hope you haven't forgotten that you still owe me from when I whipped your ass at Pool,'

'We weren't playing for money, Fabray,'

'It's funny how we never play for money when you lose,'

'Coincidence, I guess,'

Quinn rolled her eyes and pushed her way through the door, carelessly slinging her messenger bag onto the sofa. Puck swaggered close behind, kicking the door closed behind him. Quinn, who was crouched by the fridge in the kitchen whistled to Puck, throwing him a can of Coke when his attention was hers. The mohawk sporting man's eyes bulged happily, and he leaped from his spot to catch it in both hands, cracked it open, then moaned in appreciation as it hit the back of his throat.

'Love youuuuuu,' he sang while she flicked her wrist and disappeared into her bedroom. He sloped lazily around their kitchen area, running his fingers over the breakfast bar that separated it from the living room, fingering the random tea doilies and tea cosies that littered the kitchen, that age old thought that came to him every time he visited: Did everything need to have knitted cosy? And how many pictures of birds did two people need? It was like one of those holiday cabins you'd find in the snow mountains of… Canada or something, "How long you gonna be? I'm wasting away over here,'

'Shame, I was just beginning to like you,' Quinn feigned,

'You got anything to eat over here?'

'Try the cupboard above the sink, there should be a granola bar there or something,'

With a turn to the left, and a turn to the right, he spotted the aforementioned cupboard and opened it curiously. One bar left in a packet that once held 5, score.

'Take your time, Quinnie! Take your time,' said Puck, his mouth full of the delicious and chewy, oaty bar. He moved into the living room and let himself relax into the couch cushions, grabbing the remote and surfing through the channels, before settling on an old western movie that involved horses and guns and shootings and shit.

Meanwhile, Santana murmured to herself contently the the tune of a song from Godspell; partly cursing Rachel for getting the damn song in her head, partly cursing herself for enjoying it so much. She wrapped the towel that was hung over the rack around her body, then tousling her damp hair with a smaller towel. The rumble in her stomach reminded her she'd had nothing much to eat in the past couple of days; a bit of left over pasta last night when she arrived, and a packet of skittles she kept in her bag for emergencies. Even though Rachel had explained she'd not had chance to get groceries, Santana was sure there was something in the apartment, in fact she was certain she'd seen a granola bar hidden away in the cupboard above the sink.

Leaving the bathroom and rounding the corner towards the kitchen, she was startled by the stranger reclining back into Rachel's sofa, munching on.. wait, was that her granola bar?

She screamed; binding herself tightly in that ridiculous Little Mermaid towel she'd borrowed from Rachel, she pushed back her wet and tangled hair, careful to keep her naked self covered from the strange guy making himself at home in an apartment that wasn't his.

'Shit! What the fuck?' Puck hollered, his mouth open slightly as he looked her up and down, then closing his eyes tightly and covering them with his hand just incase. Clever man. Quinn dashed out of her room soon after, and arrived wielding a polkadot umbrella in the air like a spear, her pink hair dishevelled and hiding her eyes. Swiping it back with the palm of her head, her arm dropped at the sight of Puck cowering and Santana's attempt of hiding behind the couch,

Breathing a sigh of relief, she bent forward exhaustedly,

'It's alright, it's just Santana,'

_Just _Santana? Who the hell was this guy, and why did Quinn think it was alright to reassure him instead of her? And why the hell was she drifting back into her room with no introduction? And who the hell told him that haircut looked cool? Santana's brows furrowed as she took in the image of the cowering guy in front of her.

'It's okay, I'm decent,' she called, and he parted his fingers that covered his eyes, half smirking nervously, obviously being careful to look anywhere other than her face, 'You must be Finn,'

He shook his head,

'Puck,' the man introduced, holding out a hand before reeling it back at her glower, raking his fingers through the most ridiculous haircut she'd ever seen; A strip of curly black hair running down from the front of his hairline to the nape of his neck. So this wasn't Finn, and as far as she knew, Finn was the boyfriend, wasn't he? So what the hell was this Puck dude doing making himself at home? Her eyebrow ticked as he stood awkwardly, unsure wether he should sit down again or just wait for Quinn so he could get the hell out of there. The latter seemed to be the safest option.

This chick was crazy scary. Like, even by just her scowl she was terrifying. Puck was not frightened, he wasn't, he was just didn't wanna get on her bad side. How the hell did Rachel know her? And why in the world was she looking at him like that, her lips all pursed and eyes squinty, s'creepy,

'Never seen a woman in a towel before?'

Puck snapped out of his gaze and glowered in her direction. Santana's eyebrow, seemingly attached to a fish hook, was raised ridiculously high on her forehead. Where the hell did she get off thinking he'd never seen a woman in a towel before? He'd seen lots of women in towels, lots. He'd seen lots of women without towels, and why the hell was he concentrating on that? Puck grunted,

'Kinda playing fast and loose, calling yourself a woman and all.' That didn't make sense, she had a smokin' body, he'd totally tap that. Well, not now he knew she was Grade A crazy but still, she was tappable.

'What are you, twelve?'

Just before Puck opened his mouth Quinn entered, smiling pleasantly at the both of them. Noticing their hard expressions, she reeled back. What the hell had these two talked about the five minutes she'd been out of sight.

'You've met Puck before, right?' Quinn asked cautiously. Wordlessly, Santana shook her head, and the lightbulb went off in Quinn's mind, _Oh right_, 'He lives across the hall from us. Santana is Rachel's best friend, she's staying with us for a while,'

Freakin' perfect. She hide her distain as well as he did: Poorly. The tension in the room could have been cut with a knife, the pink haired girl thought, then clapped her hands together and stepped between them awkward, 'Wellllll, we're going for lunch, Santana. Would you care to join us?'

What? It was only polite.

'I'll pass.' Quinn nodded, standing awkwardly hooking her arm through Puck's and hauling him out of the door with her. The minute the apartment door clicked shut, Puck mumbled,

'S'wrong with that chick? She's crazy,'

'She's a friend of Rachel's, what do you expect?'

She had a point there.


End file.
